Page 48 of Cinderella Is Faking It

She scrunched up her nose, eyes flitting to her four stacks. I double-checked her setup and realized why she was hesitant. I opened the second drawer and pulled out a small booklet of page flags that included red ones. “How about now?”

She bit her lip to stop a stupid big grin from breaking through. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She nodded and got up again snatching the stationery from my desk, doing a giddy little dance as she clutched them to her chest and wiggled back to the shelf to pull the historical category. I’d never seen anyone that excited to annotate books about the history of vibrators.

To her credit, shewasa quiet reader, but her very presence proved to be a distraction. I sent a few emails, then looked up to watch her lie on her stomach, feet kicking, tapping her pen against her lips while she made her way throughMilkmaid. Every couple of pages, she stuck a page flag to a paragraph and scribbled a few lines into her notebook. By the time lunch rolled around, I had gotten as much done as I otherwise would have in an hour. And while I usually didn’t take a break unless a lunch meeting was required, I had no intention of letting Del starve.

I closed my laptop and eyed her playing with the blue pearl on her necklace, waiting until she turned the page. “Has all that studying made you hungry yet?”

“Hmm?” She whipped her head up, finger on the page to remember her place. She blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the clock above the door. “Oh. I guess I could eat.” She unfolded the dust cover of the book to tuck the flap around the pages she’d already read, bookmarking her spot.

“What are you in the mood for?” I asked, reaching out a hand for her. She took it, letting herself be pulled up, grimacing at being pulled out of the position she’d been stuck in for hours.

“Oh, I brought snacks.”

“I have a fully stocked kitchen. No peanuts.”

“I’m just here for your books. I don’t expect you to play host or anything.”

“It’s food, not a monogrammed set of towels.”Just here for your books.Maybe I did have to revisit the friendzoning situation Julian mentioned.

She pulled two containers of purple Tupperware from her backpack, shaking them like maracas as she followed me to the kitchen. “Microwave?”

“You are not eating microwaved food on my watch.” Okay, so I wouldn’t win her over with my charm, butplease, standards.

“Fine. I’ll eat it cold then,” she huffed and climbed onto one of the barstools.

I blinked at the food she brought when she popped the lids off. “Absolutely not.” I grabbed one of her boxes, ignoring her yelp of protest. “Fruit, yes. Mini pancakes, no.”

“First of all, you don’t tell me what to eat. That’s abusive. Second of all, those aren’t mini pancakes, they’re Poffertjes, a Dutch delicacy.”

“My place, my rules. You’re here to work, so you need brain food. A pancake by any other name is still as unhealthy.”

“You can’t just misquote Shakespeare at me to prove a point.”

“Pancakes are comfort food. You can have these back when you’re done working.” I closed the box of tiny pancakes and shelved it in the fridge, pulling out fresh vegetables and diced teriyaki chicken I’d prepared last night.

“I don’t like tomatoes,” Del interjected as she watched me cut up the veggies.

“More for me.”

“What are you making?”

“Lunch wraps.”

Her stomach gurgled in response, and even though her cheeks flamed red, she still sounded playful when she said: “Sounds like you better hurry up.” She popped one of her grapes through full lips and I almost lost a finger while chopping cucumber. Fuck. I needed to get laid if this was all it took to distract me.

Del spent the rest of the afternoon with her nose buried in the books and jumped up when her phone buzzed at precisely 5pm.

I spent that evening at Clandestine, the kind of club people spent 10k a month to be anonymous members of, but I couldn’t find the distraction I was looking for. Every woman I met was too tall, too brunette, too eager. Usually my M.O. - beautiful, self-aware, out for just sex - but all I kept thinking about was a certain short blonde and her stationery happy dance.

Del was back in my apartment the next morning, carrying pillows and blankets from the bedroom to the office and settling in for the day. It was a little easier ignoring her presence in the slouchy floor-length t-shirt dress she wore, at least until she flopped over and put her legs up against the bookshelves, the dress pooling around her hips, baring every inch of milky white leg. No idea what happened in that 11am meeting, but I would be able to draw every dip of her legs from memory.

We ordered sushi for lunch, during which she mostly rambled down the contents of her research. I’d read every book on my shelves, but I didn’t stop her from recounting her findings. She was excited about this. I wasn’t going to dim her enthusiasm. And when I lost track of time discussing erogenous zones, I told myself that engaging with her genuine curiosity wasn’t endearing or intoxicating – just beneficial. This was a long con. At least I wouldn’t be stuck in a sexless marriage. That was all.

There would be no marriage and no merger if I couldn’t hold it together in actual business meetings though, so I worked from the kitchen for the rest of the day.

EIGHTEEN

Beck welcomedme back on Tuesday, ordered sushi for lunch and Starbucks in the afternoon, pulling a face when I spelled out my drink choice for him. It was all sugar and milk and ice - perfect for hot summer days - and had very little semblance to his simple black coffee with a dash of milk.

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